Indisposed
by Prufrax
Summary: Evie Frye struggles with the most terrible cold in all of London and misses her twin, who is never around anymore. When Jacob returns, brought back by a worried Agnes, Evie realizes that his presence may very well make matters worse.


**Author's Notes:** A huge thanks to /u/8303395/PoetHrotsvitha for helping with beta reading and edition. Go read her stuff, it's too awesome to bear.

Please pay attention to the pairing, the rating and the genres. There's only one way this will go.

 **INDISPOSED**

Feeling lonely in the train strikes you as odd. You should be used to it. Father passed away a long time ago and Jacob began staying away from home more and more ever since you both turned seventeen. Not to mention that once you came to London, your relationship became practically professional in nature.

Agnes is here, Mister Green is here, but, as you have come to realize rather quickly, they cannot fill the hole left by Jacob's absence. You have asked yourself the reason throughout the years, never really reaching any definite conclusion. Is it because you shared a womb for nine months? You are twins after all. Is it because of the hardships you had to endure and the circumstances inherent to being an assassin? Perhaps, like soldiers, you bonded over these things. The weird thing is that it all seems rather one sided on your part.

Being reminded that Jacob is somewhere out there, gallivanting as if nothing were wrong with the world, makes your throat tighten. Why can he not be more like Mister Green? Focused, disciplined, discreet… kind. That last one comes out of nowhere and makes you shake your head in an attempt to scatter away that line of thought.

No matter. Maybe, just maybe, in the end, these emotions are simply a consequence of you having caught this awful cold.

As if to remind you of its presence, it makes you sneeze suddenly and violently, which then prompts a coughing fit. It would be enough to have your already tired and sore body wracked with pain all over your ribs and chest, but now there is also snot and spit all over the documents you were poring over at your desk.

In a hurry, you fish the handkerchief you always carry within the inside pocket of your coat, and do your best to wipe the papers clean. It is not very effective and that draws a long, tired sigh out of you. To make matters even worse, you can feel a headache coming. Such nonsense! You get up angrily, toppling the chair with your calves.

The dizziness comes without warning. You scramble to grab onto something, anything, with both hands, but everything around you seems to be slowly moving away as your peripheral vision vanishes. What a peculiar thing. That is the last thought to cross your mind before there is only darkness.

When you finally open your eyes, the first thing you see is Jacob's face hovering over you, his expression full of worry. Your first impulse is to smile and reassure him that you feel fine, that everything is fine. However, there is another darker, more selfish impulse vying to surface. It is the latter that you decide to follow. Do you not deserve to be selfish for once? Of course you do.

You allow a pained moan to leave your lips as you reach to take one of Jacob's hands in yours. "Jacob." Your voice comes out with the exact amount of croakiness for maximum impact.

"Evie," he replies immediately, clasping your hand between his two. They are large, calloused, and so, so warm. A feeling of happiness and safety fills you. Oh, how you have missed him.

After a beat, Jacob lets your hand go and stands up suddenly, stepping briskly toward the little table by the armchair across from the bed. You frown in disappointment. Those hands that were on yours a second ago now hold that pitcher you bought a couple days after taking the train from Kaylock and a glass of water.

He begins pouring, and pointedly keeping his eyes on the two objects, he says, "Why didn't you send for me?"

A couple answers come to mind. You could simply answer truthfully: That you underestimated the disease and did not believe you would require assistance. Not to mention that Mister Green and Agnes are around all the time and could provide sufficient help should the need arise. But, that feeling hiding in the recesses of your mind, the one you try to suppress most of the time, is getting stronger by the minute. Jacob deserves a taste of his own medicine. For once, you want to indulge in not being the adult.

"I didn't think you'd come, not for something like this," you reply, injecting your voice with as much sadness as you can muster. It is not entirely a fabrication, either. He has been staying away from you for so long, that you no longer know for sure how much you can ask of him.

Jacob does not reply, but even from this angle you can see that he is frowning. Good, he should know that his behavior and actions have an effect on those around him, even if not directly.

A few seconds go by in silence, and then, he clears his throat and turns toward you. His left hand slides under the covers and under your back to help you sit up, and you nearly gasp at the contact. There is no doubt that what you are feeling right now between your shoulder blades is the rough skin of Jacob's hand directly against your skin. You quickly look down to discover that your suspicions are correct and you are indeed wearing your nightgown. You should feel scandalized, perhaps even a little angry and demanding that he turns around. At least. Instead, you merely sit there, feeling as if the temperature in the railcar has become positively oppressive. Which is, of course, nonsense.

Reflexively, you pull the covers up to your chest, and it is only then that he has the decency to at least avert his gaze.

"You, uh, you need to drink water." He pushes the glass awkwardly into your hands and then goes to take a seat on the armchair.

The cool water slides down your throat soothingly, a boon both to a dryness you did not notice until now and to that odd heat spell you just suffered. A contented sigh escapes you once the glass is empty, and you extend it toward Jacob.

"Can I have more?"

"Of course." He smiles easily at you as he stands up to grab the glass, and you cannot help smiling back. You love how his eyes crinkle when he smiles openly. This is nice.

For the next couple hours, you bring each other up to date on your missions, you make small talk, you scold him for never doing laundry, and you reminisce. Although you do not share his antagonism toward your father, you make the effort not to mention anything too closely related. Thus, the conversation remains amiable and relaxed throughout.

At some point, he peeks out the window and finally takes notice of how late it is. You yourself noticed the colors of the sky shifting to dark oranges and reds a while ago, but you said nothing, unwilling to end such a nice evening just yet. This is the most you two have talked in months, and you have missed these easy interactions with your brother. Chatting with anyone else is not quite the same.

Of course you know it is because of the deep connection you two share. You are also aware of the fact that you could give someone else the opportunity to build something similar—Mister Green comes to mind—but despite being the calmer, more mature of the Frye twins, you have never had the patience for these things. Socializing grew harder as your assassin training progressed and you immersed yourself in the research of the Pieces of Eden. On the other hand, Jacob has always been around, if not consistently at your side. He already knows and understands you so well, even if your personalities do clash at times.

"Well," he says, groaning lightly as he gets up from the armchair, "I should get going."

Fear suddenly grips you. The irrational idea that if you allow him to cross the door your relationship will stay the same as it has been since you came to London. It takes hold of your mind, and before you can think better of it, your mouth gets ahead of you.

"Wait," you call to his back with barely concealed urgency.

He looks at you over his shoulder. "Do you need something else?"

You can still pretend as if you only need something of no consequence, or that you forgot to tell him something, or… something else. Anything that does not make you appear weak and needy. What if he rejects you? Even worse, what if he laughs it off? You are indeed weak and needy. This damned disease! It would break your heart if he does either of those things.

"Evie?" you hear him say. You have taken too long to reply. You need to say something before he grows impatient. But what? When he turns around to face you fully, and you find only concern etched in his features, the decision becomes easy.

Still, unable to hold his gaze, you look at the covers bunched in your hands. "Stay," you say, keeping the plea out of your voice as much as possible.

"I, uh…" he hesitates, and you close your eyes, hoping, hoping. "Alright, then. I'll be on my couch."

"No," you say, now mortified. "Stay with me, like when we were kids."

This obviously takes him aback, if that distressed noise he makes is any indication.

"You mean here? In the same bed? Like when you got bedridden from eating green apples?"

God almighty, why is he being so dense? Why does he need you to spell it for him? Can he not see that you already feel mortified just by asking? No, no, it is a good thing that he cannot see that. Do not be silly. The exasperation he prompts by pushing you this far bolsters your courage.

"Yes," you reply impassively, this time looking him directly in the eye.

Now it is his turn to look uncomfortable, if the way he avoids your eyes and rubs at his nape with one hand are any indication.

"I don't know, Evie. Isn't that, I don't know, improper?"

Improper? What is he talking about? You say as much.

"Well…" he stops to run a hand along his face. "An unmarried man and an unmarried woman, and all that. You know, sharing a bed."

That elicits a snort from you. "Don't be silly. We're siblings. That doesn't apply to us." Or does it? You never actually kept up with every single social rule out there. Still, behind closed doors it should not matter. No one needs to know, a tiny voice whispers in the back of your head.

He exhales heavily. "Fine. You're right, of course."

Of course you are. Are you not always? The thought makes it impossible to stop the cheeky grin that tugs at your lips.

Without dropping the smile, you slide over toward the wall and pat the empty space beside you. Jacob rolls his eyes at you and begins taking his coat off.

Having his warm, solid body beside you provides enough safety that you completely forget the illness' symptoms and quickly fall into a dreamless sleep.

It is to complete darkness that you awake next, and to your infinite embarrassment, your head is tucked under your brother's arm and your nose is nuzzling his chest. Now that you are awake, your next inhalation clogs your nose like the thickest of incenses. The smell of leather, sweat, gunpowder, blood, and something else that cannot be anything else but Jacob himself causes a tingle to shoot down your spine. Suddenly, you are aware of every inch of your skin. You shudder. Beside you, Jacob stiffens. He is not asleep.

Why is this happening to you? Your brother is lying right beside you, and you feel as if you were on fire. Without warning, the area between your legs begins to throb achingly, demanding your attention. You have to bite down hard on your lower lip to prevent yourself from gasping at the strength of the sensations setting your nerves aflame. Every tiny motion of your thighs rubs you in a completely maddening way.

There is no doubt that Jacob is the one causing your body to react like this. Every time you drink of his scent you feel the intoxication growing and your reasoning becoming blurrier. Your lips tingle with an intense need to kiss him, to feel his lips against yours in a passionate embrace.

Years ago, at the time you began taking notice of boys, you also noticed Jacob. There were no other feelings to accompany the fact that you noticed how he grew into a handsome man. Yes, at times you became curious about his body and stared for longer than perhaps was acceptable, but you attributed it to your hunger for knowledge. Recognizing that your brother was attractive never seemed odd to you. Besides, back then you were too busy with your training and studies and could not afford too much time deciphering these wandering thoughts. Surely, merely pointing out the appeal of someone's appearance was perfectly normal. Even if that someone was your brother.

Perhaps it was not as normal as you thought. Because now you want to touch him, and fleetingly, you imagine how his big, calloused hands would feel all over your body. Everywhere. The more inappropriate the better. You want to die of embarrassment, your shame growing steadily along with the wetness that has already soaked through your underthings and nightgown. However, no matter how depraved and filthy you force yourself to believe you are, your instincts simply do not care.

As a last resort, you decide to hide your shame by curling into yourself, and that is when you see it. Both of Jacob's hands awkwardly covering his crotch. You freeze at the sight, and your brain works furiously to find an explanation.

Despite the many clues pointing at the answer, you do your best to avoid it. The effort is wasted, obviously. What other reason could there be? This explains his aloofness and intolerance toward you the day after you two went swimming in that little lake southeast of town. The one and only family vacation the Fryes ever had. Oh, how foolishly you acted, you can see that now. Asking Jacob if your swimwear looked nice as it clung wetly to every inch of your skin. You feel embarrassed and angry at your past self. This also explains why he kept you at arm's length since that day, and then made every effort to increase the distance between you. The pain caused by his attitude forced you to alienate him in turn. Which hurt you even more.

Once the months became years, you grew used to it, even if your heart never mended completely. You two interacted well enough as long as you did not push for any undue closeness in his eyes. A certain normalcy settled in the Frye household. Perhaps the brother you had in your childhood was gone, but you accepted it. After all, everyone around told you that it was common. That siblings went their separate ways as they grew.

However, it was not normal. Not for you two. Now you know better.

Wrong as it may be, relief washes over you. Because you realize that you are not alone. Even if these feelings are twisted and depraved, you have someone else to share them with. Of course he feels the same. After all, he is your other half. You two have always formed a whole, despite any confrontations between you.

You want to dance, to sing, but your throat is also tight and it is a struggle not to cry. This maelstrom of emotion is so confusing and exhilarating at the same time. However, there is something you need to do before you decide whether to ride this storm or sort your feelings first: Liberate Jacob. Poor thing is clutching at himself like his reaction to you could very well spell the end of the world.

Slowly, so as not no startle him, you stretch yourself until your head reaches the pillow once more. With the utmost care, you place a hand on his chest.

"Jacob," you whisper as soothingly as possible. "It's alright."

He stiffens again, and you, too, become a little rigid.

"Evie…" he clears his throat. "This is not— I mean— what?"

The fear of him bolting away from you and disappearing forever into the night finally eases. At least he is willing to establish some dialogue between you two instead of evading the matter entirely as is usually his wont.

"I said," you pat his chest reassuringly, "that it's alright."

He sighs and closes his eyes tightly. "I'm so sorry."

"It's alright," you repeat, but this time you rub his arm, trying to soothe the tension there.

How do you even go about saying that it is fine because you feel the same, and perhaps did all along? Were he not as dense, he would have picked up on that already. Is there even a point in thinking about this, considering how Jacob only understands when told things directly? Of course not. As you make up your mind to say it plainly, you feel heat rushing to your neck and cheeks. Despite how hot you already feel.

Even if Jacob were not your sibling, speaking openly about your wanton desires would be tremendously embarrassing. Curse your grandmother for this conservative upbringing of yours. Perhaps at the hands of your mother the rules of propriety would have been more lenient. There is no point in dwelling on what ifs, though. So, you take a deep breath and dive right into it. In for a penny, in for a pound.

"I feel the same," you finally say after a painful few seconds.

His eyes are wide as he stares at you, incredulity written all over his face. You feel a new wave of embarrassment and look down from his gaze, but he does not give you time to dwell on it. Suddenly, he captures your hands in his and rests his forehead against yours.

"Oh, Evie, you have no idea how long I've dreamed of this."

That makes you smile. "I think I do."

"You do?"

"Since we were fifteen."

He retrieves one of his hands and covers his face with it. "You've known all along? Well, this is awkward."

"No," you reach with your now free hand and pull his back between you two, "I've only just figured it out. But it still is sort of awkward." You give him a cheeky smile.

"Ha-ha," he rolls his eyes.

A comfortable silence envelops you, and for a while, everything is fine. After a few minutes, though, your insecurity rears its ugly head.

"This is so wrong, isn't it?"

Instead of replying, Jacob surprises you by surrounding you with his arms and crushing you in a warm embrace. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Breathing is not as comfortable as it should be but you could not care less. This is where you belong. Warm, safe, loved. You inhale deeply against his chest and sigh contentedly, basking in the sensations enveloping your body. As the minutes go by, you relax to the point where you have practically melted into him. Despite being so close, though, you want to feel him closer. He was gone for so long. Now that he is here, you know exactly what you want. That which you have been craving since you woke up.

"Jacob?" you whisper.

"Yes?"

"Would you kiss me?" You surprise even yourself with how wistful and tiny your voice sounds. It is so unlike you.

"Of course," he replies without hesitation.

Your eyes close almost of their own volition as you lift your face. Your lips tingle with anticipation and your cheek feels deliciously warm where Jacob caresses it. Then, you feel his lips press against… your forehead?

Upon opening your eyes, you find him smiling triumphantly. "Were you expecting something else, dear sister?"

Pushing down your disappointment is not hard. Anger helps you accomplish it nearly instantaneously.

"Ugh, you're insufferable." You shove with both hands against his chest and free yourself from his arms. "I'm going to sleep now," you add, turning your back toward him and angrily fluffing the pillow before resting your head.

After a short while, you feel him slide close to you.

"I'm sorry," he says, his unshaved beard scraping the skin between your neck and shoulder as he speaks.

There is an inhuman effort involved in suppressing the shudder that that provokes. You continue ignoring him as if nothing happened, though. He needs to see that your forgiveness will not be so easily earned. But then, he kisses your neck, and all that goes out the window.

You turn around suddenly, overcome with a hunger that, frankly, should scare you. Jacob flinches at first when you smash your lips against his, but he recovers quickly and begins responding to the kiss in earnest. Your hands gravitate naturally to the back of his head, and you tangle your fingers in his hair, using that newfound grip to pull him closer.

The intensity of the kiss is bruising, setting your nerves aflame once more and causing you to moan into his mouth. Apparently, this is his cue to become bolder, and his hand slides down from where it was caressing your shoulder blades under your gown. He runs it once, twice along the dip of your waist and then squeezes the flesh on your hipbone, grunting appreciatively. You have always felt a tad inadequate in that department. Considering how women are expected to have rounder, softer curves. Being an Assassin makes it impossible for you, though, what with all the exercise. Fortunately, that seems to be of no concern to Jacob, who continues his ministrations with fervor, earning him a sharp buck from your hips.

Now he is the one to moan into the kiss. This, in turn, emboldens you enough to slide your tongue into his mouth. You both groan at the contact and relish this new experience for a few seconds. That is when Jacob grabs your bottom and pulls you flush against him. Having your core pressed against his body causes you to pull away from his lips just so you can moan freely. You are about to dive back into the kiss when you feel his hand moving up to your chest.

"No," you nearly shout, roughly pushing his hand away.

Jacob slides away on the bed, putting some distance between you, both hands held up as if surrendering. "Alright, alright…"

When you see him moving away, you react instinctively, one of your hands shooting out like a striking snake to take hold of his. You intertwine your fingers with his and then take a couple of deep breaths.

"It's just," you take another deep breath, "I'm not ready."

He squeezes your hand. "It's fine. I understand."

You offer him a tight smile. "I don't think you do. If I let you touch me there, Jacob, it will lead to more. I'm not ready for that, and, no matter what you feel right now, you're not ready either."

Unexpectedly, he does not contradict you or put up any defenses. He merely chuckles. "I guess you got me there."

A smile tugs at your lips. He has grown without you noticing. Despite all the bravado and rashness, even Jacob Frye has managed to mature a little after all this time.

Then, he surprises you again.

"I love you." His expression is dead serious.

That infuriating, now too familiar blush is back on your cheeks. You can clearly feel its heat. "I love you too."

Jacob looks away from you and scratches his temple, and you immediately grow suspicious. "Uhm," he pauses awkwardly, obviously hesitating. "Can we kiss some more? Perhaps?"

You roll your eyes affectionately at him. "Of course."

 **FIN**


End file.
